


The Fruit of a Day’s Work

by Sarahtoo



Series: The Power of the Feminine [4]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6569686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5392814">The Education of Jack Robinson</a>, we met Deborah, a young widow who turns tricks on the side. This is her side of the story of her night with Jack.</p><p>By request for gaslightgallows, on her birthday! Much love to you, my friend! I hope it's a wonderful one!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/gifts).



> Title quote: In teaching you cannot see the fruit of a day's work. It is invisible and remains so, maybe for twenty years. ~Jacques Barzun

When Jack Robinson came into her store on the eve of his eighteenth birthday, Deborah Martin was sweeping the floor. She smiled at him, handsome young man that he was, and saw the flush rise in his cheeks. Deborah knew that she was a good-looking woman. She had full, soft breasts, a narrow waist, and round hips, and she wore her bright blonde hair tucked back in a soft bun.

“Good afternoon, Jack,” she said sweetly, taking a moment to look him up and down. He was delectable, with his deep blue eyes and his dark curls, not to mention that jaw and those cheekbones. She’d also seen him cycling around, so she thought it likely that he was muscular in the way that so many young men are. And he had very large, strong-looking hands. Her lips lifted in a slightly wicked smile. She was rather looking forward to this.

“Hello, Mrs Martin,” he replied, and his voice was lower than she’d remembered, a bass rumble that was pleasing to her ear. “How’s your family?”

“They’re just fine, thank you. What can I help you with today?” She had something that she needed to say to him; she just needed to find the right point in the conversation.

“Mum sent me for flour and eggs,” he responded, his smile wry. “For a birthday cake.”

Deborah raised her eyebrows a little. She wouldn’t get a better opening than that.

“I’d heard it was your birthday,” she replied, stepping closer to him. “A few of your friends came in earlier and purchased you a present.” She looked up at him through her lashes, watching him blink in confusion.

“Er, I… what?” He’d stammered.

“Your friends bought you a birthday present,” she reiterated, and she looked him up and down, stepping closer. “An evening with me.” At his flummoxed look, she moved behind the counter to box up his purchases. He stood on the other side, color high in his cheeks and his mouth working slightly. Deborah smiled sweetly at him and pushed the box aside to lean over the counter, knowing that the action would push up her breasts and give young Jack a good view. “Shall we say nine o’clock tomorrow night?”

“Yes?” Jack said, then cleared his throat. “Yes, that sounds fine. Um, here?”

“Come up the stairs at the back,” she said, and since there was no one else in the store, she allowed herself to run a finger down her throat and into the cleft of her breasts just for the pleasure of watching his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “See you then, Jack.”

Jack had nodded as he took the box of groceries; he’d smiled a little nervously and left without another word. Deborah had chuckled to herself as he left. Young men, especially virgins, were just so _fun_.

Smiling, Deborah took up her broom again. It seemed to be a neverending battle to keep the dust out and the store looking neat and clean. As she swept, she thought back to when Jack’s friends had approached her that morning. It had been apparent that they’d come looking for something other than flour and apples, because they watched her from the moment they opened the door. One of them, the clear ringleader, stood in front of the other two; the pair behind him snickered and elbowed each other while attempting to look worldly. She knew what it was they wanted, and she began to consider her options even as she spoke.

“May I help you, gentlemen?” She asked, moving behind the front counter and standing carefully straight. Her voice was warm and low. Welcoming. Deborah didn’t want to frighten them off, but she didn’t want to make herself too obvious either. She rested a hip against the counter, crossing one arm over her belly to emphasize her bosom.

“Are you Missus Martin?” The spokesman asked. He was young—probably not yet eighteen, she thought—and handsome. His brown hair was curly and his eyes were a deep green; his skin was tanned lightly, as happened for many men who spent a lot of time out of doors.

“Yes,” she replied, and affected a puzzled look. “Do I know you?”

He cleared his throat. “We heard that you offered specials.” His eyes searched hers. “We’d like to, um, procure one for our friend.” When she didn’t respond, he rushed on. “It’s his birthday—his eighteenth—and he’s never... that is to say, he’s not...” He cleared his throat again. “Well, I’m sure you understand.” He met her eyes again, obviously hoping that she really did understand.

“Mmm,” she said. “I do. And when is his special day?” She kept her tone calm and noncommittal.

“Tomorrow,” the leader said promptly.

“And that’s when you’d want this special?”

He nodded. The other two boys had stopped snickering and seemed to be holding their breath. They were younger, she thought, not more than sixteen. One was thin, dark-haired and spotty; the other had a shock of hair too bright to be called anything but orange, and his blue eyes were bright with laughter. She thought she’d be happy to see any of these three again on their own birthdays.

“All right. I’ll need payment in advance, and your friend’s name.”

The smile the leader flashed was dazzling. She’d bet he was a heartbreaker, this one. He held out a hand to drop some money into her outstretched palm.

“His name is Jack,” the young man said. “Jack Robinson.”

 _Jack Robinson,_ Deborah had thought, _good lord, I know his mother._ Sylvia Robinson was a good woman who’d raised her three children alone after her husband died. They’d discussed how difficult the world was for a single woman with children when Sylvia came into the store; Deborah was certain that Sylvia had never resorted to prostitution to put a little extra on the table.

“And you’ll get a message to him? Nine o’clock tomorrow night,” was all she said to the young charmer. He’d agreed, and he and his friends had gone; she’d watched them laugh and poke at each other as soon as the shop door closed behind them.

Her smile slipping a little at the last memory—she knew what they’d been laughing about, and no one likes being the butt of a joke—Deborah went about closing up the shop for the day. This shop had been her dream, hers and her husband’s. With him gone, though, it seemed like she could never quite make ends meet. She’d had to hire a part-time employee to have any time to be with her children, and that expense strained her budget. She had enough money to keep the children fed—they did own a grocery, after all—but purchasing the other necessities, not to mention special treats for birthdays and Christmas, would have been impossible without her sideline.

Added to that, she was lonely. Her Paddy had been dead for almost four years. She’d married him for love, and their sex life had been active and varied—she had five children to show for it. The first year he’d been gone, she had been so focused on her grief, the children, and keeping the store running that she didn’t have time to think about her own needs. The second year, she had the store under control and the children on as much of a schedule as she could, given their ages. But she still grieved. And she missed him, so much. After a while, touching herself had not been enough.

She’d considered remarrying, but this was her store, hers and Paddy’s, and any man she married would want to have his say in the running of it—or he’d expect her to sell it and support him in whatever his life’s endeavors might be. Deborah wasn’t sure that she was ready for that. And the opportunities for marriage for a woman with five children were not robust, for that matter. So she’d decided to take another route.

The first man she’d slept with for money had been a traveling salesman. He was still a regular customer, and he bought an hour or two in her bed whenever he came through town. She had a few regulars—men whose wives couldn’t or wouldn’t allow them into the marital bed, and they made up the bulk of her extracurricular business. But she had also become known for being willing to deflower young men, and she’d been the first sexual experience for several of the teenagers in the surrounding area.

As she tidied the shop, sweeping the day’s dust and mud out the door, she contemplated deflowering young Jack Robinson. Deborah enjoyed young men, really. They often knew very little, and she considered it her duty to teach them how to satisfy a woman so that when they married, their wives would find gratification in the marital bed. There were few enough pleasures in a woman’s life in these difficult times.

**********

The following evening, Deborah put her children to bed with a story of their father. She wanted to be sure that they remembered her Paddy as much as was possible. Her husband had been larger than life, a happy, laughing man whose joyous spirit had kept all of the hardships of life at bay. The births of each of their children had been cause for celebration—Paddy had passed out biscuits he’d made himself (they couldn’t afford cigars) to every customer in the store the day after each of her confinements.

Looking down at her darling children, she sighed. Her darling, fatherless children. She hated to leave them alone, but what would she tell any sitter about where she would be? It would only be for a couple of hours, though, and she would be just across the garden. At nine, Patrick Jr was a responsible boy, and he would be able to keep the peace with the littler children until she returned. Seven-year-old Agnes would assist, if the need arose. Timothy, Bridget, and Nell were already fast asleep, tumbled together like puppies in the single large bed. With any luck, they’d sleep straight through.

“Where are you going, mama?” Patrick’s green eyes were very like his father’s, and very often serious. He was so young to think himself the man of the house. She worried for him.

“Just over to the shop, darling,” she said softly, smiling. “I’ve some work to do tonight.”

“Will you be home soon?” Agnes said around a yawn, her eyelids drooping. Deborah stroked her hair and her eyes fluttered closed.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Deborah soothed, dropping a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “Hurry to dreamland, my lovelies. Who knows what waits there for you tonight?” She cupped Patrick’s soft cheek and kissed his head too, breathing in his sweet little-boy scent. “Adventures and wishes and more, I’m sure of it,” she whispered. With a wink, she got up and crossed to the door of the bedroom, passing her own single bed along the way.

Patrick smiled slightly at his mother’s whimsy. “Good night, mama,” he said, snuggling down with his siblings.

Deborah turned to blow a kiss toward her little family as she blew out the lamp and closed the door behind her. With a wry smile, she headed out of the little house the six of them shared and across the garden to the shop. She’d first set up the attic above the store as a flat, furnishing its front room with a couch and chair and its small bedroom with a bed, nightstand, and clothing hooks. She had intended to let it out, though it wouldn’t have brought in much income. When she’d decided that selling sex was more lucrative, and something she’d continue doing rather than a single night’s impulse, Deborah had refitted the flat for the purpose, adding a small desk to the front room (a quiet place to do her everyday bookkeeping) and a washbasin and pitcher to the bedroom. She also sought out a doctor who’d fit her with a pessary; she already had five children, and she had no intention of having any more.

Tonight, as was her habit for these assignations, she wore a soft cotton dress that buttoned up the front, and she’d left off any underthings. When she reached her attic rooms, she removed her shoes and lit the lamps before inserting her family planning device. She smiled again to herself as she did so—she could feel her body readying itself, her sensitive tissues dampening with anticipatory desire.

Now, as the clock counted down the minutes to his arrival time, Deborah planned what she’d do. Usually in these situations, she’d begin by undressing the man and perhaps taking his member in her mouth. Men often seemed almost thankful for that kind of sensual attention—it was something she had done regularly for Paddy, but apparently, other women were unwilling. Deborah rather enjoyed it; the weight of a man’s cock against her tongue, the taste of that private skin, and the satiny hardness all served to arouse her for the rest of the evening’s activities.

Generally, she was paid for one time, so she’d be careful not to let Jack come too early. She’d get him hard with her mouth, then undress and let him explore her body. She shivered a little, thinking of a mouth on her breasts and fingers other than her own between her thighs— _Jack had such long, strong-looking fingers,_ she thought. When he was close to release, she’d draw him down and help him find his way inside her body. That part didn’t usually last long with this type of meeting—when a boy became a man, the experience was often more exciting than he could bear. Sometimes, if it was too fast, Deborah would let the young man have a second go, just so that she could have a better chance at a satisfying experience. She’d see how it went with Jack.


	2. Chapter 2

When the knock on the door came, Deborah was ready. She had fresh water in the basin and fresh sheets on the bed; she’d lit the lamps in both rooms and taken down her hair. With a smile, she opened the door to Jack Robinson.

He was nervous, she could tell, so she didn’t speak, just took his hand to pull him inside. Shutting the door quietly, she led him back to the bedroom. She halted as they stepped through the door, turning to face him; meeting his eyes, she lifted up on her toes—he was taller than she’d expected—and kissed him softly. He blinked deeply before tilting his head and opening his mouth to her tongue.

 _Ah_ , Deborah thought, _he’s done at least this before._ She paid attention to her virginal clients, as some were more virginal than others. This wasn’t Jack’s first kiss from a woman; he lifted his hands to rest them on her hips, pulling her against his chest, and he kissed her. His technique was good, and she could tell he’d been practicing— _lucky girls_ —so she let herself fall into the pleasure of mouth on mouth, tongue sliding against tongue. After a few moments, she felt his hands shift to cup her bottom and she broke the kiss to begin removing his clothing.

Wordlessly, she pushed his braces back over his shoulders to hang behind him, then unbuttoned his shirt, stroking the skin she uncovered and raking her fingers lightly over his nipples. Taking each of his hands in hers, she carefully undid his cuffs before moving behind him to pull off the shirt and hang it on a wall hook. As she turned back to him, she was struck by the muscles of his back and shoulders, and she ran her hands over them—he twitched slightly at the touch—before coming back around to his front, trailing her hand across his tight buttocks.

Crouching down, she pushed lightly against his leg so that he’d lift his feet, one by one, allowing her to pull off his shoes; she set them neatly to one side, then slid her hands inside his trouser legs to release his sock garters and socks. When she stood again, she laid her hand over the tented front of his trousers, feeling the shudder run through him. She squeezed his cock softly, not wanting to send him over, before softly sliding her hand up to undo the fastenings at his waist. He dipped his head to kiss her again as she stroked her hands into the back of his trousers, pushing them and his undershorts down to pool at his feet; he stepped out of them and kicked them backward toward the wall. His breath was coming harshly now, and his kisses were more urgent. Deborah brought her hands back around to grasp his cock and he moaned his pleasure at the sensation, his fingers tunnelling into her loosened hair. _Those hands of his hadn’t lied,_ she thought, admiring the length and breadth of him between her palms.

Breaking the kiss again, Deborah slithered down his body to kneel in front of him, her hands pumping along his shaft. With a glance up at Jack’s face, she opened her mouth and licked the flat of her tongue up his length, swirling around the smooth head before taking him into her mouth. She listened to his breathing as she sucked him, making her pace faster and slower as needed to bring him to the edge of orgasm and keep him there. When she pulled her mouth away from his dick to cover each of his balls with her mouth, rolling them against her tongue, he whimpered, and she could feel him flexing the muscles of his thighs to control himself. She shifted, clenching her own inner muscles and feeling the dampness growing between her thighs.

When she judged that he was almost at the point of no return, she pulled away and smoothly rose to her feet. Jack’s color was high and his chest was laboring with the force of his panting breaths; his cock stood straight and strong, wet with her saliva, and he was beautiful in his youth and vigor. With a small smile, Deborah brought her hands up to unbutton her dress, and she watched Jack’s eyes drop to follow her action. She shrugged the dress off, revealing her naked body to his gaze; he paused just a moment, then stepped forward to press himself against her, nudging her backward till her knees touched the edge of the bed.

When she would have lain down, though, he stopped her. Echoing her own actions of a few moments earlier, Jack met her eyes and dropped to his knees. Deborah could feel her eyebrows rise in surprise. _This is unexpected_ , she thought, _perhaps young Jack has been practicing more than I thought._ And then she didn’t think at all as he set his mouth to her, using his tongue and his fingers and even his teeth on the wet flesh between her legs. She was already aroused, and his willingness to perform this act had made her more so. Whoever had taught him his technique had done a very good job of it, for Jack made short work of pushing her into a climax that turned her knees to jelly. Thank goodness the bed was directly behind her when she fell backward, panting with release.

When she opened her eyes again— _when had they closed,_ she wondered—Jack stood before her, his eyes hot, his hand gripping his cock, and his face wet with the evidence of her arousal. Deborah pushed herself backward on the bed, drawing her knees up to put her heels on the mattress, and beckoned to him. He set his knees on the edge of the bed, crawling up between her thighs, and she took his cock in hand, setting its head to her opening. With a sighing grunt, Jack pushed, sinking deep inside of her, his whole body shaking. Deborah crooned wordlessly at him, stroking his hair, and he flexed his hips to pull out and then sink back in.

He didn’t last long—perhaps four or five strokes before he came, a hoarse shout tearing from his throat and his hips stuttering against hers. He collapsed atop her, his cock still hard inside her body.

“S-sorry,” he whispered.

“Whatever for?” Deborah continued to stroke his hair as he buried his face in her neck.

“That last bit wasn’t very good, was it?”

“Oh, my dear, that last bit just needs a bit of practice, that’s all. And what led up to it was very good indeed.”

Jack lifted his head and smiled at her, a little shyly. “It was?”

Deborah leaned in to kiss him, tasting herself on his lips. “Oh yes,” she said quietly. “You, young man, have a very talented mouth.”

He chuckled a little nervously. “Just trying to keep up to the standards,” was his quiet rejoinder, and he leaned in to kiss her, his tongue sliding softly into her mouth. Deborah kissed him back, lifting one of her legs to wrap around his hips. If Jack was like some of her other young clients, it wouldn’t take long before… yes, there—she could feel him hardening within her, and his hips began a small, involuntary pulsing.

“Now,” she said, pulling back just far enough to speak, “what do you say to a little more practice on that last bit?”

“Well, if you think it’s best…” he rumbled. Laughing, she leaned in to kiss him again.

The second round did go more slowly; Jack used his mouth on her breasts as she coached him into a rhythm with his hips that matched hers. He was a fast learner, and quickly picked up the trick of it. When she took his hand and pulled it down between their bodies, he eagerly fingered her clitoris while he continued the movement of his hips. Feeling her convulse around him in another climax seemed to delight him, and he managed to hold off his second orgasm until she was finished; then he braced his feet and pumped hard to bring himself off.

They talked a little after that, kissing and touching as they did. Jack had an inquiring mind, and his gentle manner seemed to invite confidences.

“May I ask you something?” He whispered as they lay there, Deborah’s head pillowed on his chest, her legs entwined with his.

“You may ask, but I won’t guarantee I’ll answer.”

“Why do you do this?” His voice held no judgement, just interest. “I mean, you’re a beautiful woman, and you seem to be making a good living with the store. Why take men to your bed for money?”

Because he was obviously asking out of a place of warmth rather than criticism, Deborah decided to answer him.

“After Paddy died, I was lonely. It’s hard work, running the shop and being a mother to my babies. I could have married, but I wasn’t ready for that. I just… wanted to feel arousal, and release, and to remember that I was a woman in addition to being a mother.” She drew swirling patterns against the skin of his chest as she considered what had led her here. “And when that first man offered to pay me for doing something that I wanted to do anyway, well… it seemed like a situation where everyone could win.”

“Paddy was a good man,” Jack murmured. “I can understand why you missed him.”

“I loved him,” Deborah said quietly. “And he loved me—loved us—too. To think that he could be taken away from me so quickly by something as simple as a bee sting…”

“Is that what happened?” Jack’s voice was soft. He was stroking her back. “I just remember that he was here one day and gone the next.”

“That’s about the size of it,” she sighed. “He was gardening, and he set his hand down on the ground right on top of a bee. Within fifteen minutes, his hand had swelled to twice its size and he was having trouble breathing. Before the doctor could get here, he passed out, and his breath just… stopped.” She wiped her eyes. _My darling Paddy_ , she thought.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Jack said, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. He held her for a little longer before sighing softly.

“I imagine that we’ve used up all the time you were meant to give me this evening,” he murmured. “I should probably go.”

Deborah was silent for a moment, thinking. In the course of the evening, this young man had given her two orgasms (which was more than some of her adult clients had bothered with) and he’d cared enough to ask her about herself.

“Actually,” she said, sliding her hand down his belly to wrap around his cock, “I was hoping that you’d stay for one more round of practice.” She smiled at his soft gasp and began to work him firmly as she leaned up to kiss him again.

“Well, I do like to be sure that I know all of the nuances,” he rumbled, and his hand rose to cup her breast, his fingers tweaking her nipple.

“How would you like to earn a little extra credit, then?”

“I am at your disposal, ma’am,” he said, his voice tightening as his cock did.

“All right then,” she said. “Let’s begin. First, use your fingers to make sure that I’m ready for you.”

Jack obliged, pushing her backward on the bed so that he could reach between her legs, his fingers sliding softly around her clit and dipping into her passage. He dipped his head to take her nipple in his mouth as he worked her, and the suction of his lips added to the circling penetration of his fingers made her breathless. She continued to fist him as he worked her; when he pushed two fingers inside her and pumped them in a simulation of intercourse, she shuddered with a small release, her hand squeezing his cock and garnering a groan in response.

“Good,” she panted, “that’s very good.”

Gathering herself, she released him and rolled away, pushing herself up on her hands and knees, her head toward the end of the bed and her ass in the air facing him. Casting a look backward over her shoulder, she saw that Jack was still lying where she’d left him, his eyes on the wet, pink flesh between her thighs.

“Come on, then,” she said, and he moved to set his hands on her ass and open her up so that he could bury his head there, licking up from her clit and pressing his tongue inside. Deborah moaned at the hot wet sensation, and her elbows buckled. She dropped her head and just enjoyed his efforts, her hips shifting as she inched toward her peak; Jack slid a hand down to cup her mons and place his thumb over her clit, pressing and releasing with the rhythm of his tongue— _a very fast learner indeed,_ she thought, before she went over with a wail.

When she was able to breathe again, she looked back at him. He was softly petting her clit with his fingertips and watching her for further instructions.

“Up to your knees, Master Jack.”

Jack tilted his head at her, slightly confused, but he obeyed nonetheless, and when he had gained his knees, he seemed to understand what she had in mind.

“Like this?” He said as he set his knees between hers and fitted himself to her, his hands on her hips, pushing into her body from behind with an indrawn breath.

“Yes,” she said, “but with vigor, Jack.”

Jack thought about that for a moment, then began to move. He pulled almost all the way out and then _shoved_ himself in, hard. Deborah cried out with the pleasure of it, and he paused.

“Was that too rough?”

“Oh god, no, do it again,” she whimpered.

And he did, every lunge pushing her a little farther toward the end of the bed. Deborah grasped the footboard to anchor herself as he pounded into her, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through her. When he tired—she could hear his breath heaving from effort—he curled over her, hands cupping her breasts, and continued to move, but much more shallowly, curling his hips in a pulsing motion that was a perfect counterpoint to the violence he’d used earlier.

He lasted much longer this time, varying the rhythm and angle of his thrusts, kneeling up to hold her hips to receive him, then leaning down to run his tongue down the line of her spine. Finally, she couldn’t bear any more—she’d hovered on the edge of release too long.

“Jack,” she moaned, “now, please now!”

Obligingly, he curled around her, one hand on her breast and the other reaching between her thighs, where he did something with his fingers—she wasn’t sure what, but it shoved her over the edge into orgasm. She heard herself wail, and felt Jack ride through it with her; when she stopped shuddering, he kneeled up again, resuming his pounding rhythm.

 _Ah, for the stamina of youth,_ she thought, and reached between her thighs to place her fingers where they’d run over and behind his testicles with each thrust. When he was fully inside her, she pressed lightly at the strip of skin behind his balls. With a shout, he stiffened and came, his whole body seizing with the pleasure of it, a groan echoing from between what sounded like clenched teeth.

Afterward, they lay spooned together on the bed, heads toward the footboard, neither having the energy yet to move. Jack’s arms wrapped securely around her, one of his big hands cradling her breast.

“I’ll go in just a moment,” he murmured wryly into her ear. “When I can feel my legs again.” Deborah laughed.

“That’s probably for the best,” she replied softly. “But should you choose to visit me again, Jack Robinson, you’ll be welcome.” She closed her eyes momentarily at the feeling of the kiss he laid on her temple.

“Thank you for tonight,” he said.

“It was my pleasure,” she replied truthfully.

With one more kiss to her lips, Jack rose and dressed, laughing quietly when his legs were still a little wobbly. She watched him, lying on her stomach across the bed, and when he turned back to send her a little wave from the door to the bedroom, she blew him a kiss.

When she heard the click of the front door closing, she got up. She used the basin to wash off the worst of the sweat and the sex, then pulled on her dress and stepped into her shoes. Humming, she moved quietly around the little attic, stripping the bed and bundling up the sheets to be laundered, then blowing out the lamps before she closed and locked the door.

Smiling lightly to herself, she made her way back across the small yard to the house. Readying herself for bed, she removed and cleaned her pessary, then washed her body more thoroughly—remembering as she did the passage of a young man’s hands as he touched her to bring her pleasure—and slipped into her cotton nightrail. When she moved into the bedroom, she could see by the moonlight that the children were sleeping soundly, Patrick and Agnes sleeping straight on either side of the curled-together bundle of littler children. She kissed each one of them, then tucked herself into bed, knowing that morning would come too soon but unwilling to regret the visitor that had kept her up so late.

 _That young man will make some woman very happy someday,_ she thought sleepily, still feeling the pleasurable tenderness of well-used muscles. She hoped for his sake that life would treat him kindly. As sleep rolled over her, she had a flash of Jack Robinson as he would be in twenty years or so, his cheekbones and jaw more sharply defined without the padding of youth, his rangy body still muscular and toned. In the image, he stood smiling down at a woman with short black hair who held onto his arm, her laughing face turned up to his. And Deborah smiled.


End file.
